


Bela Fugit

by StartingInTheMiddle



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Bela Talbot, Gen, Mentions of hell, allusions to torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25940176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StartingInTheMiddle/pseuds/StartingInTheMiddle
Summary: Bela leaves Hell, and finds the Wincesters.
Kudos: 4





	Bela Fugit

**Author's Note:**

> All characters belong to CW and Eric Kripke, I'm just playing with them. Not sure if I'll continue this, but I loved Bela and feel like there was still a lot they could do with her character.
> 
> There are allusions to torture, but definitely nothing worse than you would see in the show.

She remembered this place, but not the smell. It smelled like burned honey; bitter and sweet on the back of the throat. She breathed deep and smiled. This wasn’t her familiar ash and brimstone, it wasn’t sulfur and fire. She took another breath and stumbled as she got her bearings. Human legs were … different. Had she ever walked on them before? She took a steadying step, then another. Human legs in heels were a different challenge, but she had expectations to maintain even in her new demonhood on earth. She walked the length of the cemetery and stopped at two vaguely familiar shaped stones. One she ignored - just as they had ignore her, the other she broke - as he had broken her. As she had broken him. She crushed the stone with her mind and felt a release unlike anything else. It was petty, it was justice, it felt good. Oh, so good, to break him again. 

She had seen him down there, remembered his pleas for respite. 

She had been given an opportunity - to unleash punishment on others and she had excelled. She had created a thousand cuts, each meant to and succeeded in creating a new punishment for him. Hell had offered her a release that Heaven surely could not have. Once, only once in the thousands of years she had been down, had she considered something different for him. 

Then he said her name, a whimper that sounded too much like …

She had grown stronger with each scream, she had found purpose with each new soul to torment. But he was her favorite, he was the one she went back to year after year. Who would have thought a thief and con-artist would rise up the ranks. Who would have thought a thief and con-artist would become a feared demon in the leagues of Hell? She turned from the rubble and walked away, careful to crush the remaining stones from his grave under her spiked heel. Each crunch felt like a cool breath on her heated skin. 

He was dead. He was tormented. 

She was free. 

She looked down at her hands, familiar and foreign. She turned them over and watched the veins and bones slide under flesh. Under her flesh. Before she had crawled her way out of The Pit, she tried to make a deal. Some would say she never learned, others would be in awe that she had found a way out. She was neither. She was a demon with a plan. And a score to settle. 

She wanted vengeance; the demon had laughed at her request and told her that was no deal. That was payment for crossing over. He had shaken when she approached, eyes downturned, then grinned when she offered the deal. Demons are solitary creations, unless pain and torment are possible. He had laughed and pointed a bright light to her. That was her escape. No charge for the Demoness of Perfidia, so long as she succeeded.

On the flight to the States she closed her eyes and opened them to find herself looking at a mirror image. A fearful and quaking image. 

“Do you remember when I came to you, Sister?” she asked. Her twin looked around, lost and fearful in the blackness of her soul. “Do you remember what you said? You said, ‘Stop telling tales, Abbie. Stop trying to make trouble.’ “

Her sister fell to the ground, and for a flick of a moment she felt something. She quashed it before that something could find a name and stepped closer, the toe of her blackened leather boot brushing her sister’s fingers. Flesh of a beast against flesh of the hand. “You let Father do those things. You let him. You did nothing.”

“I was a child,” her sister pleaded. Her twin cried, but why? For fear? For regret? “Please, Abbie.”

“Enjoy this hell, sister. Be thankful I am not sending you to the real one,” she turned with a smile and opened her eyes. 

The plane was landing and people, humans, were standing and mulling around. They were loud and abrasive, they were ignorant and rude. She loved every second of their company. The goodness they tried to show off, the conceit they all felt. One pushed another and apologized with a roll of his eyes, while another purposely stood and blocked a row of passengers. Petty, vile, perfect little beasts for her to play with.

Later. To play with later, she reminded herself. 

She used her contacts from her previous life, some amazed to hear from her while others claimed they knew she had been alive and living low the whole time. She laughed with them and bit her tongue to keep from slicing them in two. Somethings were much easier in Hell, she realized. But her resolve was only so strong; after one had given her the information, he had slid a greedy hand from her arm to her back to her butt. She had broken his arm. Then his neck.

She was on a mission. She had a debt to repay. 

The car was easy enough to find; a black ’69 Chevy stood out in a crowd. As were the two men who drove her. Even on Earth when she had been human she had never understood how two man such as they were able to stay hidden.

She followed them from a distance. Another benefit of Hell was stealth and patience, she kept to herself and let the world around her move in a blur. Her focus was them. She watched them stop and send a demon or two back down, she watched them vanquished ghosts and a witch. After the witch, she followed them to their home and laughed. The Winchesters. With a home. She would need to add that tidbit to the newsletter, or sell it for a price. 

The sigils at the doorway forbade demon entry, and seemed to forbid angelic entry. An interesting note to file away. A laugh bubbled out before she could stop it; this was an easy work around for a woman of her knowledge. She squeezed the bag in her pocket and smelled the herbs and dead flowers in the pouch — they were repellent but necessary. As a human she would have gagged, as a demon she had control. The door opened easily, a slight creak as she pulled it shut. Voices filtered up to her, laughing and planning. Sam and Dean, she thought, always SamandDean.

How innocent, she thought. 

She made no show of hiding herself. She walked down the stairs, her heels clicking against the metal steps, until she heard the voices soften and silence. She reached the ground and slid one hand to the knife she kept at her waist. The brothers were standing by a long table, two beers and a meal forgotten behind them. 

“Hello, boys,” she grinned, cocking her hip and resting a knife-wielding hand on it.

“Shit” Dean cursed.

“Bela?,” this from Sam as he took a step back. 

Bela Talbot took a step forward and watched both men struggle for their next move. She tsk’d and shook her head. 

“We have work to do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :)


End file.
